


Ropes of the Righteous

by TheAuthorGod



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1 Enoch, Angels, Biblical References, Canon Compliant, Castiel in the Bunker, Dean in Glasses, Fallen Angels, M/M, Magic Glasses, Slow Build, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Soul Bond, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 07:16:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3281669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAuthorGod/pseuds/TheAuthorGod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has always been cursed with a brilliant, beautiful, and long cord.  Some angels think it's a blessing and an honor; Castiel just hopes it's a mistake.<br/>Castiel has spent eons trying to forget about his cord; it takes a reminder to finally bring about the end of his burdening wait.</p><p>1 Enoch 61: 1-3 says that angels are given lengths of cord to measure human righteousness with.  In my version, each angel is given a piece of rope that corresponds to their charge or bondmate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ropes of the Righteous

**Author's Note:**

> UNPROOF'D. UNEDIT'D. Mistakes are mine; characters are not.
> 
> I am getting a degree in Religious Studies and sometimes to remember things I create little SPN headcanons. This is one of those headcanon-memory-things, only, in it's true and full form. This is based on 1 Enoch a real text - Note: Enoch, Enochian; I figured it was warranted.
> 
> I do reinterpret Dean and Cas' first meeting in the barn; it's all the same as the actual show but with Cas' thoughts and I feel that it is integral to the story...it is the BRUNT of the story, actually.
> 
> Enjoy :D

1 Enoch 61:1-3  
  
“And I saw in those days how long cords were given to those angels, and they took to their wings and flew, and they went towards the north.  
  
And I asked the angel, saying unto him: “Why have those angels taken these cords and gone off”  
  
And he said unto me: “They have gone to measure.”  
  
And the angel who went with me said unto me: “These shall bring the measures of the righteous, and the ropes of the righteous to the righteous, that they may stay themselves on the name of the Lord of Spirits forever and ever.”  
  
\---  
  
Each angel had a cord. Castiel’s cord was longer than most. He could loop his around his waist 4 times and still hold it out in his fists at his full armspan. He wasn’t sure if it was a joke authored by this older brother, Gabriel, or if it was some sort of mistake by the higher-ups, even by God. There was no man on earth that could have so much righteousness. There was no man on earth that could bottle up that much compassion and live his life out with humans who sin and do bad deeds so easily.  
  
Castiel knew it couldn’t be right. Many of the other angels’ cords were shorter, less brilliant. Theirs seemed real. Castiel’s seemed to be some sort of cosmic mistake.  
  
Humans would call it a Soul Mate. Angels, lacking souls, could not call them Soul Mates. They are something more profound, more permanent. A Soul Mate leaves you in death; angels do not.  
  
Castiel turned to one of his eldest brothers, “Michael, why must I carry this cord with me? I am weak compared to the other angels; I am small compared to your visage. Why was I chosen for this honor?” He tugged and twisted on the cord wrapped almost a dozen times around his waist. It glimmered in the ethereal light and shone like the sun did without the atmosphere to dim it.  
  
Michael did not hear him. He continued his work in the small garrison; he ignored pleas and questions.  
  
\---  
  
Castiel lived many eons and continued to carry the cord. It was heavy and gorgeous. It made him have to be strong so he could carry its weight. It taught him where the light stopped and the darkness began; it was too bright to take in dark places so he rarely visited the evil sections of the world. Other angels laughed or snorted or stared. It was like Castiel’s own righteousness was visible, his obedience physical, and being judged, harshly.  
  
He moved around in a daze for years. He wanted to make up for this unconventional cord. He made sure to follow orders to a tee. He made sure that he said the right things, did the right deeds. Hiding and manipulating the fact that he had the longest cord of all of the angels became a full time job. He didn’t try to measure the humans that he ran into. He began to avoid humans altogether, despite his curiosity with them. He only went where he was told and did what he must.  
  
“Castiel, do tell me why you hide your cord.”  
  
Castiel turned from his work in the small human village bringing peace to those who were consumed by hunger. While the vessel was not recognizable or at all familiar, Castiel could recognize the angel within. “Annael.” Castiel turned back to the man he was helping to drink purified water. “I know not of what you speak.”  
  
Annael moved forward and rested a hand on his shoulder. “It is not shameful to have such purpose. You are meant to guide and share your understanding with a human of great grace and compassion. I would boast of it, if I were given that honor.”  
  
Having finished the water, the man asked to be left to sleep in his native tongue. His dark lids closed over darker eyes. He had a strong and bright righteousness within his soul but it was not as bright or as massive as Castiel’s cord.  
  
“You misunderstand, Annael. It is not an honor; it is a curse.” Castiel felt bitter whenever he spoke or thought about his cord. It was something that he liked to pretend wasn’t real. It was something of a ghost that followed and haunted him over the years and years and years of his work.  
  
Annael stepped away. “You are wrong.”  
  
When Castiel turned to explain the angel’s falsity, the angel was gone.  
  
\---  
  
Castiel was in the middle of a cold part of Canada bringing peace to a group of young girls snowed into a shed, when the host called on him. He was not there in a vessel but there as a guardian. The host called loud and rang true, “The Righteous Man has fallen.”  
  
Growling at his own misfortune, Castiel thought of the cord wrapped around his waist. He wondered if a time would ever come that he would not think about the burden of carrying it.  
  
“Castiel.”  
  
The voice came separate from the host. It was deeper and truer. Uriel’s visage appeared in the multidimensional space that Castiel rested in tending to the girls on the 3-D plane of reality. “You’ve been called to raise the Righteous Man.”  
  
He growled again. He swept one of his wings against the cheek of one of the frightened girls. It calmed her. She was able to breathe easily once again. “Why would you send me, Uriel? There are many angels stronger and more vigilant who could fight through Hell for your Righteous Man.”  
  
Uriel’s thousand eyes flared in controlled frustration at Castiel’s defiance. Castiel brushed a hand over another girl’s temple to calm her fearful thoughts. He continued his work believing that it was all he could do as a broken warrior Seraph. Uriel swept his wings out, demonstrating his might. “Have you grow oblivious, Castiel?”  
  
The angel’s movements had disrupted the peaceful air that Castiel had worked so hard to create. The girls clambered and rushed but Castiel shot his own wing out to stop them from hurting themselves. He used his wing to maneuver them to the ground and he brushed each of their heads. Castiel could hear the police in a few hours. In the multidimensional plane, time worked differently. Castiel could see the girls in the frightened states and almost simultaneously see them jumping in jubilation when the police officer digs them out.  
  
“Castiel, look at your wing. Tell me what you see.” Uriel pressed his request into the softened air.  
  
Looking at his outstretched wing, Castiel noted that it was dark and pearlescent. The feathers were dark but shone like oil under the beating sun. The wing stretched out across the room and through the shed. Its span stretched through the snow and almost to the road beyond.  
  
Castiel stared at his wing even as Uriel spoke. “You have grown Castiel. You are stronger than many Seraphs. You are stronger than the Ophannin. You are worthy of this mission.”  
  
Castiel’s stare turned into a glare before it was turned back to Uriel. “I must finish my work here before I take on any mission.”  
  
Stance deflated, Uriel tucked his wings back behind him. His thousand eyes watched Castiel with fascination. “You really care about these creatures; don’t you?”  
  
Watching one girl breathe slowly with slumber and hovering a wing over her for warmth, Castiel nodded. “Everyone is worth saving.” When Castiel turned again, Uriel stood quietly, no longer disturbing the calm quiet.  
  
\---  
  
Castiel broke into Hell with vigor and might that must have grown behind his eyes for he had never witnessed his own power before, at least not this power, a feral and mighty power. He was stronger than he ever imagined. He never knew; he had never tested himself.  
  
His mission was simple, save the Righteous Man and return him to the Earth he would be indebted to save.  
  
Castiel threw demons this way and that, slashed through skin and bone and hides with his Angel Blade. He emptied demon blood onto the cold dead ground of Hell. Castiel had never been to Hell; he would have never described it as a cold place until that moment. It was cold unfeeling. It reminded him of his own eons on Earth, also cold and unfeeling.  
  
There were other angels fighting with him. Some used to stand taller than Castiel. Some used to be stronger than Castiel. Some used to look down on Castiel. They could not anymore. Castiel was leading them; but, the other angels were falling. One by one, they were succumbing to the power of the darkness, of the demons, of Hell.  
  
Castiel realized belatedly that perhaps he had grown in his absence of mind. Perhaps he did become stronger and more powerful while he holed himself away. He slashed through Hell beasts and hounds and made his way to the innermost levels of Hell where the Righteous Man was said to be.  
  
When Castiel saw the light of the Righteous Man he did not falter. It was bright but not too bright; at least, not for his own eyes. Other angels fell back from the intensity of the soul. They could not gaze in its direction for too long.  
  
Finding himself confused by the events unfolding, Castiel plowed forward. He moved toward the light and as he neared he watched in awe as the visage of the soul seemed to grow. It was huge, a giant among the creatures of Hell; but, it was humble. Castiel could tell.  
  
The soul was in two parts, the outer portion of its visage was enormous, rivaling the size of Castiel’s own visage. It was hunched though. While Castiel’s face was at the top of his own visage, or so he believed having never seen himself, this soul’s face was close to its middle. It made the soul seem smaller than it truly was. It revealed a humble nature to the soul.  
  
At the visage’s center was a piece of righteousness that gleamed bright. Brighter than the sun and the moon and the stars, it was. Castiel could tell that it was folded in on itself though. It was compacted and shrunk so that it only barely ebbed with righteousness; but, it could not be hidden completely. The righteous force in that drop of substance lit up Hell.  
  
Castiel moved forward to touch the drop of pure, shimmering gold. He felt it’s power; its careful, cautious compassion. He realized that, even though, he was weary and he was tried; he would not leave this beautiful being in Hell. He gripped it tight and raised it from Perdition.  
  
\---  
  
Castiel felt battered and worn. He felt like the entire world had constricted and forced him into a shoe a few billion sizes too small. Taking a vessel meant constriction and sensation that Castiel was not entirely new to. Each vessel felt sensation differently and each vessel reacted to sensation differently. It was like a wild animal was suddenly expected to be domestic and vice versa but all inside the gut of your very being.  
  
Sometimes it was enough to make Castiel sick.  
  
He was still trying to figure out how to hold his grace inside of the puny form. It was hard not to let things slip out like wind and electricity. The air was electrified when he found the Righteous Man. He had been called; but not by the Righteous Man directly and that worried him. Not exactly the human worry that his vessel was accustomed to but the angel worry that coursed through his grace like sandpaper on rough cement.  
  
He forced his way into the barn without much trouble. He was limited in power in his vessel; but, a barn door was hardly enough to challenge him. His full power would have incinerated half the county.  
  
He walked in ignoring the symbols and words and etchings. He ignored everything, watching the Righteous Man’s soul glow with the righteousness within, the golden drop of Heaven on Earth. Castiel had never given credence to Gnostic Myth; but, in that moment, he would have sworn that the Righteous Man’s core was purely divine.  
  
The divinity in the room didn’t stop the pinch of rock salt or the annoying tear of flesh by a bullet; but, it eased away the uncertainty in who he had found at the end of the cramped journey.  
  
“Who are you?” The Righteous Man said. He was upset and his core vibrated with the sentiment.  
  
Thinking that a Righteous Man would understand the value of the truth, Castiel spoke, “I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition.”  
  
The Righteous Man tanked him. It was nice to hear a thank you from his mouth; but, Castiel soon realized it was not the truth. He drove a knife into Castiel’s chest. Castiel wasn’t sure if he was more shocked by the twinge in his vessel or the lies that rolled to him from the Righteous Man’s lips. How could someone so righteous be so at ease with falsity?  
  
This greatly disturbed Castiel’s inner peace. He wrapped a vessel-hand around the knife’s hilt and dragged it from his body. He watched the Righteous Man’s fear as he did. It settled somewhere between satisfying and upsetting; but, Castiel liked the human emotions; he liked the idea of having human emotions at all.  
  
A blade swung from behind him and Castiel threw a vessel-hand out to stop the swing. He turned his eyes from the Righteous Man and reached toward his companion with the other vessel-hand. Within the vessel he reached with his true visage hand and touched it to the companion’s head where the flesh of his vessel met the flesh of the other man. That man fell to the ground, asleep but otherwise unharmed.  
  
Castiel turned back to the Righteous Man. He wasn’t sure what to expect from him anymore. He racked the thoughts of the Righteous Man; he thought very loudly for a human. He plucked a name from his mind and spoke evenly, “We need to talk, Dean.” He glanced at the companion’s friend, another intense thought provided Castiel with a name, Bobby. He wondered if Dean had any other companions laying in wait. He clarified his statement, “Alone.”  
  
\---  
  
Frozen in place until Castiel moved away, Dean shot over to Bobby.  
  
Castiel needed answers. He wanted to know more about the Righteous Man, Dean. It was high on his list of things to learn about now that he was thrust into this new role in humanity. He was supposed to guard the Righteous Man; a part of Castiel figured that if the threats were purely human and creature that the Righteous Man would be able to fend for himself. With Angels and Demons in the mix, though, Dean would have to learn to accept Castiel’s company.  
  
On the table were some books and texts that Castiel had briefly glimpsed before in his eons on earth. Dean and his companions seemed to know what they were doing. He moved forward flipping open a book on Angels. He opened it to the text of the Righteous Man. The text was hardly readable; the prophet must have been dying or inebriated.  
  
Dean’s thoughts were getting louder and more chaotic; the loudest was his question about Bobby’s condition.  
  
“Your friend is alive.” Castiel flipped to the next page trying to decipher the text.  
  
Dean’s thoughts stilled and his mouth moved instead. “Who are you?”  
  
There was no usable information on the next page either. “Castiel.”  
  
“I figured that much; I mean, what are you?”  
  
Castiel ran a finger along the seam of the book. It was old and rebound more than once; he could tell. He looked over the next page in a futile hope for something to help him understand the Righteous Man. There seemed to be nothing. Believing that the only way he could proceed and learn about the Righteous Man was from Dean himself, Castiel turned his attention. “I am an Angel of the Lord.”  
  
Dean rose from where he had knelt next to Bobby. “Get the hell out of here.”  
  
Feeling no reason to leave, Castiel turned more fully toward Dean.  
  
“There’s no such thing.” Dean was skeptical.  
  
Castiel feared for Dean’s memory. He had seen Castiel’s complete visage in Hell. He had been there and observed Castiel and the other angels when they came to rescue him. Perhaps he was repressing his memories; perhaps humans did not retain memories the same way Angels did.  
  
None of those were problems though; those would just be quirks of humanity. Dean’s problem was different. “This is your problem, Dean; you have no faith.” Dean needed something to see; he needed something to believe in. Castiel could do that; he brought for this wings, or a version of his wings. They were puny compared to their usual size; but, he only needed wings big enough to move the puny vessel-form that he had taken. They would be enough.  
  
“Some angel you are. You burned out that poor woman’s eyes”  
  
A part of Castiel hurt. It was much like the unsaid, unheard, but ever-present judgment he felt form his brother and sisters. Castiel clenched his fists and tried not to be reminded of the golden cord wrapped around his waist tucked into the same dimension as his wings. It wasn’t something he wanted to carry around; especially not after this treatment by the Righteous Man, the only man whose soul and righteousness had ever compared to Castiel’s cord. The cord was a part of Castiel, though; he couldn’t get rid of it.  
  
Clenching his fist tighter, Castiel pulled his newly human thoughts and emotions back to where he wanted them to be. “I warned her not to spy on my true form. It can be overwhelming to humans and so can my real voice.” Castiel felt human hope blossom in his chest; perhaps Dean would believe if he remembered Castiel in Hell, Castiel saving him. “But, you already knew that.”  
  
“You mean the gas station and the hotel.”  
  
Castiel wondered if his plan had worked; if reminding Dean of these events had helped bring the Righteous Man to the correct notions. A brief flit through his thoughts revealed otherwise, skepticism reigned.  
  
“That was you talking?”  
  
Nodding, Castiel kept a careful watch on Dean’s face. His expressions were most perplexing and awe-inspiring. They embodied humanity in a way that Castiel wished he would get to study.  
  
“Buddy, next time lower the volume.”  
  
Castiel looked away from Dean. He was a little ashamed but also a little pleased at being called ‘buddy’. “It was my mistake.” Castiel felt Dean’s thoughts stray toward disbelief; so, he rushed to explain. “Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage; I thought you would be one of them.”  
  
It would have made sense. Dean’s title as the Righteous Man, his bright core, his soul’s immense power; these things should have made it clear that Dean was beyond human. Castiel felt a small piece of his grace break and dissipate. It fell. He felt a small piece if himself fall, like Anna did, like so many Angels did. Humanity was fascinating. He felt like he gave the piece of himself to Dean in that moment. “I was wrong.”  
  
“And what visage are you in now, huh? A holy tax accountant?”  
  
Castiel could honestly say he wasn’t sure that that was; but the way Dean thought about it; it was something horrible. Castiel didn’t want to be associated with something horrible in Dean’s mind; so, he tried to explain. He looked down at his vessel and wondered what it would be like to show Dean his true visage. Dean would surely die but what if Dean could see it safely? It was a preposterous idea, though. It was something that couldn’t be done and angels didn’t dwell on the impossible; but, the small fallen piece of Castiel’s grace did. “This, this is a vessel.” It would have to do.  
  
“You’re possessing some poor bastard?”  
  
Dean seemed to have the ugliest words for everything. It was the exact opposite from the beauty in his soul. It was like whiplash and ice.  
  
“He’s a devout man; he actually prayed for this.”  
  
Dean was quick. He was fast and his thoughts were like lightning in his head. “Look pal, I’m not buying what you’re selling; so, who are you really?”  
  
Confusion, true human confusion, spread from the fallen piece of Castiel’s grace. Dean didn’t believe him; even though, Castiel offered only the truth. It must be the world. Humanity must have polluted the Righteous Man; it made the Righteous Man and humanity that much more interesting. “I told you.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
Castiel tried to piece together the puzzle that was Dean Winchester.  
  
“And why would an angel rescue me from hell?”  
  
The pieces began to click into place. It was obvious now that Castiel knew what to look for. It was all right in front of him. “Good things do happen, Dean.” He tried to convince the Righteous Man of righteousness. It was an absurd thought.  
  
“Not in my experience.”  
  
Pain pounded in the foremost thoughts in Dean’s head. It was loud enough and strong enough to hit at Castiel, too. Castiel’s newly human emotions rang and resonated with the pangs emanating from the Righteous Man, Dean Winchester. “What’s the matter?”  
  
Fears came forward in Dean’s thoughts and Castiel found himself filled with angel worry compounded by human worry and something else that he couldn’t quite describe.  
  
“You don’t think you deserve to be saved.”  
  
There was no question anymore. Castiel found the notion completely absurd. Already, in his short time in the presence of the Righteous Man, had Castiel came across absurd things. It would seem that impossibility and absurd was where Dean lay.  
  
“Why’d you do it?” Dean didn’t trust him.  
  
Castiel was unsure of how to proceed. Wasn’t sure why the angels wanted the Righteous Man alive. It wasn’t part of his mission to know, just to do. It was a commandment. It was something that Castiel had done because he was covering up that he was different. It was something else to do to prove that he was just as good as any other angel. “Because God commanded it.” The angels weren’t the type to save random people, not all angels; that was more of a Castiel-thing not an angels-in-general-thing. “Because we have work for you.”  
  
Dean still didn’t believe him and it was utterly absurd since Castiel had uttered no lies. Everyone deserves to be saved.  
  
\---  
  
[fast forward because I’m lazy and I don’t want to rewrite the entire series]  
  
\---  
  
“Come on, Cas; lemme see ‘em.” Dean sat in the library in the Bunker and rocked lightly in his chair. He was excited at the idea and, frankly, so was Cas. He wanted to show Dean his wings but it was a highly intimate thing and he wasn’t sure if Dean understood that.  
  
Biting his lip, Castiel felt another piece of his grace fall away. He was so close to being human that he wasn’t sure that he could even feel the angel worry at all; his body was consumed in human worry instead. “I’m not even sure that I can bring them to this plain.”  
  
Dean moved his mouth in thought and his face pulled together in ill-disguised concern, “You mean like you don’t think it can be done or you’re too…” He trailed off but they both knew what he was going to say.  
  
Feeling inadequate, Castiel look down away from Dean’s curious and heartfelt eyes. “The, uh, the latter.” Castiel was too weak; his grace was fading.  
  
Swallowing, Dean glared at a spot on the table. Castiel wouldn’t read the thoughts in Dean’s head. He had learned long ago that it wasn’t proper; but, in all honesty, he wasn’t sure he had the strength. Even if he didn’t read Dean’s thoughts, he saw the gears turn, so to speak. It was just as fascinating as it had been when he first met Dean.  
  
Dean snapped suddenly and stood from his chair, “I got it!” He strode from the room leaving Castiel to wonder if he should worry.  
  
Ever since Castiel had raised Dean from Hell, the, uh, the first time, things hadn’t really slowed down. There was an apocalypse brewing or some big player snuck out after dark or someone was a demon. It was non-stop go. It was hard to breathe sometimes; and, the more human Cas became, it was hard to sleep.  
  
A while back, a shift had occurred in the Cas-Dean universe. Sam had chosen not to comment on it and Dean and Cas hadn’t really voiced anything about it either. Cas was turning human and that meant sleeping and shaving and all sorts of other scary and surprising and demanding things. Dean had taken over the role of guardian.  
  
Cas sighed. It had once been his job to guard over Dean; but, the tables had turned all around, in fact, the table was probably destroyed completely. Cas knew how to kill and hunt; he wasn’t completely hopeless. He had an entire store of knowledge; but, bit of it were falling to the wayside as he became for human. He and Dean had done some joint research and found that while Cas would probably never have a completely human memory or brain it would begin to forget and it would probably be frustrating for Cas.  
  
Once Cas no longer was useful to the Winchesters… Cas couldn’t even finish the thought. It was one of the thoughts that kept him awake when he was lying next to Dean in bed. It was one of the things that plagued his thoughts almost constantly. Dean had no reason to keep the fallen angel.  
  
Cas closed his eyes and tilted his head back. The silence closed in on the smooth darkness behind his eyelids.  
  
“Woah.”  
  
Snapping alert, Cas turned to See Dean standing in the door frame wearing almost ridiculously large glasses. Cas decided that if ever Dean needed glasses, Cas would support it. They made his eyes seem even bigger and greener. Cas shifted in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. “What?”  
  
Dean walked over slowly. “They’re beautiful. Why’ve you been hiding them?” He held out a hand toward where Cas could feel his wing resting but the dimensions weren’t aligned the right way for Dean to feel it. Cas figured the glasses must have opened some of Cas’ visage to Dean.  
  
Cas was constantly reminded why he stayed near the Winchesters, especially the elder. It was the child-like wonder that Castiel had lost eons and eons ago. It was the surprise and mischief that had been plucked from Castiel or trained out of him. It was all the things that, in Dean’s words, ‘differentiated Castiel from Cas’. “Most people would notice if a man was walking around with large wings protruding from his back.”  
  
“Not in the bunker.” Dean was still as quick as ever. Cas wondered if that quickness would ever fade. Dean’s eyes moved over Cas’ face and the rest of him. His face pulled into a smirk, a retort on his tongue, no doubt; but, his expression faded away. “What’s that?”  
  
Cas looked down. He could still see his own visage, according to his and Dean’s research Cas’ angel-vision wouldn’t fade away. A part of Cas wondered if that was enough of a reason to keep him around. It was his cord. It was loose around his human waist and still wrapped 12 times. He sighed out. He had forgotten all about it. He had finally lived a little without the burden of the cord; but, it was back. The burden fell hard of his shoulders and Cas slumped with the imagined weight.  
  
“What is it, Cas?”  
  
Cas sighed. “It’s a cord, an angelic cord. Angels were given them long ago. It matches the human that we are supposed to be with forever.”  
  
Dean peered at Cas over the rim of the glasses. “Like a Soul Mate or something shitty like that?”  
  
Nodding, Cas huffed a short laugh at Dean’s vocab usage. “Angels don’t have souls.”  
  
Silence began to stretch but Dean cut it off. “How does it match a human?” His eyebrows pinched together in confusion. “It looks like a really pretty length of rope.”  
  
Cas felt naked again, like he had around the angels. He was bared in a way that made him feel lost and violated. If anyone other than Dean was seeing it, he would probably have felt strong enough about it to run from the room. “It’s used to measure a human’s righteousness. The rope is as bright as the human’s righteousness and as big.” Cas wished he could use his grace to make the cord disappear but he wasn’t able to and he knew it.  
  
“Well, that’s… cool.” Dean looked like he was sad.  
  
Not sure why, Cas tried to explain better, perhaps that was the problem. “It’s much longer and brighter than many other’s angel’s cords. I used to be scorned for it. It is an immense responsibility to keep and guide someone with this much greatness. I have failed.” Cas realized with a great pang. “I have failed just like they said.”  
  
“No you haven’t. Cas, you’ll find your… person. I’m sure of it.” Dean’s teeth were clenched; he was angry and Cas was confused over the reason for it.  
  
Cas sighed and played with the hem of his shirt. “I thought I had found the person, once.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“Yeah.” Cas smiled. “The righteousness was brilliant; it shined and glimmered but it was broken. It was folded in on itself and tied in knots.”  
  
Dean grimaced lightly. “Uh huh, and what happened to this person?”  
  
The truth was still Cas’ default, even after all of the years with humanity. “I raised him from hell.” Cas figured if he was going to be kicked out of the bunker better to get it done sooner than later, right? It wasn’t really worth trying to get used to if it was only temporary.  
  
Freezing, Dean’s eyes shifted from Cas’ hairline to his eyes. ‘Me’ he mouthed.  
  
Cas nodded.  
  
Dean clenched then unclenched his jaw. “Sorry for being broken.”  
  
Shaking his head, Cas couldn’t believe his ears. Cas stood from his chair and shook his head at Dean. “No, you’re not broken, not anymore. You’re all better.”  
  
Hope filling in the spaces of green in Dean’s eyes, he licked his lips before responding, “Does it match your fancy ass rope thing now?”  
  
Cas had never bothered to check. He immediately switched on his angel-vision to full power. His angelic sight didn’t wear him down or anything which only supported the idea that his angelic sight would remain once he was fully human. There, right in front of him, Dean’s righteousness glowed even brighter than it had in Hell; it was reverberating with love and happiness and Cas was astounded. Dean’s soul hunkered down around and in his body and barely contained the righteousness therein, the righteousness bended and twisted so that it filled the space in Dean’s soul. And at the heart of it all, in the nest of Dean’s righteousness, Cas could see some of his grace fragments, the ones that had fallen for Dean and Dean alone.  
  
Tears threatened at Cas’ eyes and Dean tried futilely to look at himself. Cas shook his head at the insane picture Dean made wearing the magic glasses trying to turn his head around on himself; he reached out and pulled the glasses from Dean’s face gaining Dean’s attention. Cas placed the glasses on the table and looked at them thoughtfully.  
  
“So, is it as big at your cord?”  
  
Cas shrugged. “I have no way to measure.” He wasn’t lying; but, he no one had a longer cord that Cas did and Dean’s righteousness definitely matched in its intensity. It wasn’t a stretch to say that Dean was his match. Cas could feel the smile tugging at his lips.  
  
Suddenly, Dean smirked and his eyes grew confident. “Ballpark it.”  
  
Shaking his head while Dean pulled Cas’ hips into his own, Cas wanted to tell Dean that he had been an idiot. That he had messed everything up. He wanted to explain that his fascination with humanity was really more about Dean the entire time. He wanted to say so much.  
  
Dean pressed his lips into Cas’. Immediately, everything that was unsaid was said and heard and understood. It was the kind of kiss that conveyed everything and more and then some. Dean broke from the kiss. “You want to retire to our room?”  
  
Cas blinked; he leaned forward to whisper in Dean’s ear. “You do mean sex, right?”  
  
Laughing loud and full, Dean nodded. “Yes, Cas, definitely.”  
  
“Then let’s go.”  
  
\---  
  
[Bonus Scene]  
  
\---  
  
Sam walked into the bunker library. The magical glasses were on the table and a chair was pushed out. It wasn’t the sort of thing that would get Sam up in arms on a usual day; but, that wasn’t a usual day. Dean had been complaining about Cas’ eventual fall to human form, obsessing was a better term really; and, Sam had been reading through all of the mentions of angels in literature that he could. He even read portions of the Supernatural Series online to see if there was anything that Chuck had known and stuck in.  
  
It was one of those times that Sam’s genius was tested because most of the books were told from a heavily Dean-influenced POV. Sam suddenly knew a lot better about how Dean saw Cas; and, it definitely explained Dean’s panic.  
  
Sam had known that Dean and Cas probably had ‘thing’s for each other; but, he wasn’t going to stick his nose in because it was his brother and his friend. Dean would have to figure it out like any other guy.  
  
Sam peered at the glasses and threw the book next to them. He had found a cool tidbit about angels in one of the religious texts on the Dead Sea Scrolls and the like. It was interesting and he had wanted to share.  
  
Knowing his own brand of luck, Sam decided not to search out his brother and his brother’s angel; he didn’t need to be scarred any further. He just left the excerpt from 1 Enoch on the table and went back the way he came.

**Author's Note:**

> Some Art by moi.
> 
> Leave a comment! It keeps me thriving and happy!


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